


As Above, So Below

by osunism



Series: Get Us There [14]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cheating, Established Relationship, F/M, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 22:37:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5350955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osunism/pseuds/osunism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if...</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Above, So Below

**Author's Note:**

> This is self-indulgent AUing. I had a 'what if Hadiza had gone the Samson-is-a-dirty-secret route' moment and this was the result.

At night, Cullen wraps her up in his arms, holds her tight, and her legs open, a safe harbor that shuts behind him as he loses himself within the darkness between her expensive sheets. Hadiza sighs, breathy and replete, but there is something missing. The itch is deep, too deep for Cullen to scratch, and she won’t ask him to. No, she lets him rock her gently into the mattress, stares at the ceiling and tries to remember the last time she hadn’t lied to him.

Samson finds her in the study below the next day, and for a moment, she hopes that nothing stirs in her when their eyes meet. She hopes that her mouth doesn’t go dry when she watches his tongue trace his dried lips in a slow slither. She hopes her heart learns to keep pace with her determination to quell the red tide of desire already rising in her blood.

When he tilts his head just so, the poor, flickering torchlight catching the light of his eyes, making them glimmer, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a crooked smile, Hadiza watches her hope buckle beneath the weight of her own lack of self-control. She swallows against a lump in her throat, even as she goes to him. At first, the kisses are tentative, teasing, exploratory. He nips her lush lower lip, coaxes her mouth open with a whisper, sucks her lip into his mouth. His hands sculpt her shape through the silk robes she wears. He has learned all the catches, stays, and buckles that hold it together and soon he frees one of her breasts. Hadiza shivers as the frigid air whispers against her nipple, and it hardens before he lowers his mouth to it.

In the frozen emptiness, her moan sounds like a confession.

Hadiza allows herself the pleasure, allows Samson free reign of every inch of her, spreading for him eagerly, her back against the cool mahogany of the study table. His mouth on her sex is a dream, his tongue rougher than Cullen’s, and he sucks on her clit just a little too hard, making her twitch and yelp. He laughs, uncaring, because he is already on his knees for her. He’ll not sink much lower.

When she comes for Cullen, it is a slow and gradual thing, a warm wave that washes over her nerves and tingles from root to tip. She smiles gently, basking as if she were sunning herself.

When she comes for Samson, it is a tidal wave, unexpected, violent, and she is rolled beneath it, graceless and wanton, hips pumping involuntarily against his hungry mouth. He abandons her sex to watch her, and Hadiza feels herself exposed beneath his baleful gaze. She feels as if the title of Inquisitor means nothing to this man who was—is—her enemy. Samson traces the shape of her cunt with his fingers, pulls her apart to marvel at her, glistening and slick. Her clit throbs from his earlier treatment, but he circles it with the pad of his thumb regardless, just to watch her hips rise and slam back down against the table.

“Does he know?” Samson asks as he holds her legs apart and steps closer between them. Hadiza shakes her head, refusing to give voice to the source of her shame and pleasure both. She tries to say very little during these trysts, tries to maintain some semblance of distance between the source of her shame and the nameless, faceless beast of her own lust. The truth is, she has long since wedded the two. Samson can scratch the itch Cullen cannot.

The blunt tip of Samson’s cock is snug against her cunt, and she parts around him easily. It’s only his own control that keeps him from sinking into her further. “Of course he doesn't,” his hips shift and Hadiza bites her lip on an anticipatory whimper.

Samson is fully hilted within her, now, and Hadiza’s breathing is ragged, her silver eyes nearly swallowed by her pupils. She gazes at him, knowing how she must look, panting like a bitch in heat. Samson folds her nearly in half, gritting his teeth against the tight, slick feel of her. By now she should be shaped to fit him. He’s been inside her more than he’s taken himself in hand by this point. She shivers. The humiliation of it thrills her and the shame only serves to add bite to the desire he strokes out of her with each thrust of his hips.

They don’t speak, they never do. Their trysts are as wordless as the desire which pricks them both. He drives into her hard enough to send the desk beneath them scraping on the stone floor. Hadiza’s responses are merely yelps, punctuated by gasps and sharp intakes of breath as he fucks her, claims her, and marks her. Above, the Inquisition bustles about, heedless of their Inquisitor below, spread wide for their enemy-turned-prisoner.

When it’s over, and it’s over too soon for him, Samson is tender with her, helping her dress. But she is ashamed of what she has done, as she always is, and she wordlessly pushes him away and dresses with her back to him. She tries to pretend that she does this for pleasure’s sake, and perhaps in the beginning she did. But when his fingertips trail along her skin, the same paths Cullen’s own fingertips followed, she cannot deny the flutter beneath her ribs, the relief, the hope she feels for what could be, but what is not allowed.

Samson knows the game is over, that she will return to the light of day, his seed slick between her legs and staining her smalls, the imperceptible imprints of his teeth on her breast, a signature he sometimes wishes Cullen would see. He wants so badly for Cullen to know that this woman—their savior, is no saint. Cullen will not know that his enemy had been inside his lover this very day, and for some reason, it irks him.

What would it be like to have her in the light? To tumble her freely amidst the silken sheets? To see the doubt and shame banished from her eyes as she welcomed him into her waiting arms? Samson tells himself Cullen does not deserve a woman who burns so hotly and brightly beneath the skin, but in truth, as he watches Hadiza walk away, smelling of  _them_ , he knows that when her presence fades from the room, when he is left once more to be alone with his thoughts and memories, that it is he who does not deserve her.


End file.
